


When You Can't Make Amends

by mansikka



Series: Making Amends [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Apologies, Dean Apologizes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, M/M, Normal Life, Pining Dean, Stubborn Castiel, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have a home, Dean.”</p><p>And with those five short words, Cas blew out the last ember that Dean had been breathing hope on to.</p><p>How do you come back from one of the greatest mistakes of your life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Can't Make Amends

“I have a home, Dean.”

And with those five short words, Cas blew out the last ember that Dean had been breathing hope on to.

How do you come back from one of the greatest mistakes of your life?

***

There had not been a day since Dean had asked Cas to leave the bunker that he'd not regretted it. Not one moment when he hadn't cursed himself for not making a different decision – any other decision at all – anything other than the one that resulted in turning Cas away, just when he would likely need the most help.

Dean found as much comfort as he could in reciting his usual mantra that he was doing it for Sam; he did it all for Sam, as he always did everything. But, reminded his conscience, wicked in its words, there was, as he himself always said, another way.

Instead, he'd been blinded by fear for his brother and forgotten all he knew of angels and their manipulative tricks.

 _Some angels_ , he amended instantly, defensive when there was no need, thinking only of Cas. Cas would never have done that to Sam. Dean should have known from all the times Cas had healed someone, no matter how apparently fatal, that what was being offered was not all that it seemed.

Dean was a fool, and had been fooled, and as a result, lost almost all that was important to him.

Dean clutched the phone to his ear, closing his eyes against the pain of Cas' words and clenching his free hand tightly in a fist that bumped bruisingly against his thigh.

“Please, Cas. C'mon. Just let me explain.”

It had been two weeks since he last saw Cas. One too many ultimatums from 'Ezekiel' and Dean had finally allowed the voice that whispered something was wrong to come to the surface. With Sam's life in jeopardy despite all of the angel's promises, he'd called Cas to the bunker.

Of course, Cas had come.

There'd been confrontation, and light, so much blinding light.

Cas had stood, defiant. Sam had collapsed, broken. And Gadreel had disappeared, with little more than a fluttering of wings. It would have been quite anti-climatic if Sam hadn't started convulsing on the floor at their feet.

Cas had used up every remaining trace of his stolen grace to heal Sam, leaving himself completely human. And before Sam had even woken, Cas had left, without uttering a single word to Dean.

When Sam came round hours later, peering up at Dean through migraine-weighted eyes, Dean had haltingly told his story, and Sam had done nothing but grunt at him since.

Cas' sigh at the end of the line was long-suffering, bringing Dean back from his musings with the knowledge that he had no right to be angry, no matter what Cas' reactions were. Cas could say, and do, whatever he wanted to him since he'd earned it all. He'd taken so much from him, taken him so for granted, and for so long. There was nothing Dean could give him to make up for that. But he couldn't help holding on.

Every day since Cas had last left the bunker, Dean had called. Leaving long, rambling apologies every time Cas rejected the call – which was every time - and sent him straight to voicemail. Wording lengthy texts begging him to come home.

When Cas had finally answered his call today, Dean had been so relieved he could have sunk to his knees in thanks.

Cas’ _I have a home_ was a buckle of the knees that would have brought Dean crashing to the floor, were he not already sat.

“You have explained.” Cas' words were clipped, and precise. “Multiple times. And I have explained that I understand.”

“But-”

“Just because I understand does not mean I am willing to return to that life.” Bitterness cracked through the phone, and Dean fought to keep the tremor from his voice.

“Please, Cas.” Dean tried again, and he could hear himself begging. He did not even flinch. “Please. Can you just give me a little time? We could meet for coffee. Talk about-”

“What is there left to talk about, Dean? I am not coming back. There is nothing there for me to come back to.” There was anger and exasperation in Cas' voice now, and Dean feared he was about to hang up on him. “You made your choice,” he continued, dryly, “and I made mine.”

Cas was good enough not to say that Dean had forced him to make his choices, but Dean heard those words anyway. How could he not, when it was nothing but truth?

“Cas,” Dean's voice caught a little, and he took a breath to try to get some level back into it. “Please. Meet me. Talk to me, and if you still don't want to come back then that's fine. I'll accept it,” Dean knew that was a lie, and that Cas would know it was a lie, but desperate times meant for desperate words.

Dean wanted Cas at the bunker. Maybe not in exactly the same role as before, since he was powered down permanently now. That thought itself brought Dean a fresh wave of guilt, leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

No, he reasoned, side-stepping the guilt as though he could dodge it even though it buffeted up against him unrelentingly. Cas couldn't come back quite in his old capacity. But he could figure a way out that was pretty close to it, and that would mean they could carry on as their version of normal.

And Dean cursed himself again for lying. He didn't want Cas back in their lives for hunting. He wanted Cas back in his life for himself.

“You won't leave me alone until we do, will you?” Cas mumbled with grudging acceptance, and Dean felt such a pang of loss that he didn't know how he was still able to breathe.

“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly, when he could trust his voice better. “Me to leave you alone?” Dean gripped the phone in his hand so hard that he could hear the casing shift in protest.

“You told me to live my own life, Dean. I did that. I can't easily continue to do that when my old life wishes to remain in contact when it is convenient.”

Dean closed his eyes, unable to form any further words.

“Fine, Dean.” Cas eventually sighed into the silence between them. “Meet me here.” and Cas reeled off an address before hanging up abruptly.

Dean's heart hammered against his chest as he turned the ignition key, setting off the moment his knees had stopped shaking enough for him to drive. He didn't know if it was in relief, or fear, or both, but now that he had a small window of opportunity to fix things, he had to take it, as soon as was possible.

It wasn't until he'd driven several miles that it dawned on him. This address Cas had given him was nowhere near the Gas N Sip where Dean had watched 'Steve' work from across the street.

Coldness hit Dean's stomach; if Cas had moved on from there, and now had a home, and genuinely sounded reluctant as hell to see him, well. Maybe he really wasn't coming back.

Dean clenched his hands tightly around the steering wheel and pressed down on the accelerator.

***

_Dean's heart had cracked as he'd secretly watched Cas working in the Gas N Sip. Cas was so much more than some...sales associate. It was belittling, and humbling, and downright wrong, to spy on a fallen angel doing the meagre work he saw Cas doing. Not that Dean himself had any room to think any higher of what he did himself for a living, he thought then. But Cas. Cas was so much more. More everything._

_Dean saw Cas smile at customers, that bright, open smile that made Dean want to wrap him up protectively and never let him out of his sight again. It broke him; every smile, every wave of his hand, every acknowledgement that this new life Cas had was his fault, was entirely his doing._

_It was no surprise that Dean eventually was unable to resist physically going into the store to speak to him. It also shouldn't have been any surprise that Cas did not look in any way pleased. But Dean had somehow failed to realise just how much Cas was hurting, and how deeply the hurt in Cas' eyes would stab through him._

_They'd talked, stilted and awkward and with not really any glimmer of the comfortable back and forth they used to have. Dean had once called Cas family, but family didn't turn its back on family when it needed it most. And family certainly didn't leave someone to fend for themselves without even so much as a phone call or text in weeks. Watching from a distance didn't count either, because that was done out of a selfish need to reassure Dean that Cas was still alive._

_Dean's heart had crumbled a little more when he'd taken Cas to go on his date, and he'd not been able to drive away from the house for many minutes, since his hands shook too hard to even grab onto the wheel. When he had moved, he'd only managed to go as far as to park up around the corner, torturing himself about the feel of Cas' skin under his fingertips as he'd helped him with his shirt._

_Because of course, there was an entire world of other feelings Dean had for Cas that went beyond brother, and friend, and comrade. Dean couldn't at that point honestly recall at time when he'd not wanted more from Cas than they had, especially not now that it looked like he was far, far too late to do anything about it._

_Sure, feeling anything like that was a little daunting, and new, and life-changing. Yet there was another edge still to that overwhelming push-pull he had for Cas. Because if nothing else, these feelings alone should have been enough to make him refuse to turn Cas out of the bunker when asked. But he'd done it, regardless. Cold, rationally, as though it was nothing more than was expected of him._

_Sometimes, Dean was a coward. Unwilling to act on his feelings and unable to acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, Cas had maybe felt something for him too._

_He clearly didn't now._

_The final shattering of Dean's heart had been when Cas admitted he had nowhere to sleep but the back of the shop. And still insisted that Dean leave him anyway._

_He'd pulled up around the corner once he'd dropped Cas off, and broke, loudly and despairingly crying back against the car seat until he was raw, and weak, and ready to give up, or give in._

_And yet. He'd managed to convince himself, all over again, that he was doing the right thing._

***

Dean pulled into a parking space and took a deep breath, wondering if he'd arrived before Cas.

He peered in through the window of the cafe, cupping his hand against the glass to get a better view inside. Instantly he spotted Cas' familiar messy head leaning over a table towards the back, and his breath caught. Then Dean was through the door and towering over him, staring down at Cas before he was even aware that he’d moved.

Dean watched with a pang as Cas' whole demeanor changed, from relaxed to tensed, when he realised Dean was standing there beside him.

Slowly, he looked up; Dean smiled awkwardly and he flicked his hand in a half-wave. He tilted his head over to the chair opposite in asking; Cas nodded with a put-upon sigh and placed a bookmark carefully between the pages he had been reading.

No ' _hello, Dean_ ', no greeting, just watchful eyes, waiting.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean eventually spoke, if nothing more than to fill the awful, weighted silence. His fingers drummed a nervous beat along the edge of the table, which Cas watched with vague annoyance.

“You wanted coffee?” is the only reply Dean received.

After a pause, Dean nodded, and Cas rose up fluidly, walking over to the counter. Dean felt himself glaring as Cas smiled at the waitress, eyes narrowing as she twirled her hair whilst she took Cas' order in a way that could have been described as coquettish, or flirty, or predatory. Dean had to firmly remind himself that he was in no position to envy her apparent ease at talking to him.

Cas walked back towards the table, and Dean schooled his expression.

“So,” Dean began, and Cas just stared back at him blankly.

Dean had a fleeting thought that he wished Cas wouldn't make this any more difficult for him than it already was, but really, that was something he couldn't ask for. He rounded his shoulders instead, pressing on.

“How are you, Cas? You're looking good.”

And he was. When Dean had first sat down opposite, he'd had to suck in a breath and hold onto it. There was a little groan of appreciation that pushed up against the back of Dean's lips, wanting freedom to express just how good Cas really looked. His eyes took in all of Cas' appearance; he was stubbled but not unkempt, his clothes fit well, clinging to all of the best bits of Cas that Dean had never failed not to notice. The fingers that had driven Dean to distraction more times than they hadn't steeped next to the phone he had in front of him on the table. The phone itself was also clearly new, and it looked far too exotic next to the simple old beat up one he’d received from Dean when he'd left...when he'd been kicked out... of the bunker.

Dean swallowed, blades in his throat.

Cas looked good. Really good. But Cas always had looked good to him. Despite warring with himself about it. And Dean tried to force a lid down on those thoughts; this was painful enough without crushing himself further.

“I am well.” Cas answered finally, and flatly, unaware of any of Dean's inner battle.

Dean smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that reached his eyes. He didn't have it in him. “Anything to tell me?”

“What do you want to know?”

“You get a raise at the Gas N Sip?” Dean knew it was a stupid, nothing kind of question, but asked it anyway since he'd clammed right up on the important stuff.

Cas grew very still. “I no longer work at the Gas N Sip. And I moved.” Y _ou said you had a home,_ Dean thought to himself, stomach clenching.

“Uh, yeah, Cas, I kinda got that with you asking to meet me here.”

“You were the one who wanted to meet.” Cas reminded him coldly.

He hadn't meant... but Dean knew there was no point telling Cas he hadn't meant it like it was an inconvenience coming somewhere different for him. Dean mentally curled into himself at how difficult it was to find the right things to say.

The awkward silence continued.

Dean's fingers continued their drumming, this time along the edge of the cup of coffee that had just been slid in front of him. Dealing with this version of Cas seemed to be much like approaching a badly wired landmine, with whatever way he turned likely to blow up in his face. “So. Tell me what you've been doing?”

Cas took a slow sip of his coffee as though he needed the time to consider the question. “Working.”

“What kinda work?”

Another sip. “Mostly translation. I retained my memory of languages. That has proved very useful.”

Dean felt the tiniest amount of relief that Cas had found something he might actually enjoy doing, then idly worried if Cas was even the slightest bit interested in languages as anything other than a tool. “Where do you work?”

Cas shrugged. “This cafe. The library.” He nodded out of the window. “That bar over there. At home. Wherever I feel like since all of the work I do is online.”

Dean couldn't stop his heart pounding anxiously in protest at the word _home_. “Where do you live?”

Cas seemed hesitant to answer that. “In town,” He gave. “I have an apartment.”

Dean was pleased that Cas seemed to be earning enough to support himself, and a little fond at the slight pride in Cas' voice. But it did nothing to ease the guilt, or the ache.

“What happened at the Gas N Sip?” He asked quietly, out of nothing more than forcing himself to keep talking.

“Nothing happened at the Gas N Sip.” And Cas' voice turned defensive, mistrusting.

Dean's hands flew up as though in surrender. “I only meant...why'd you leave?”

Cas shrugged, and it looked like he was feigning disinterest, but there was a glower there just around the edge of his eyes that gave off warning. “I have you to thank for that, I suppose.”

Dean set down the coffee, not trusting the way his hands trembled around it, fearing he wasn't about to enjoy Cas' next words. “Me?”

Cas nodded. “Seeing you reminded me that I could do...other things. That I wasn't a helpless, resourceless individual. I had been saving the money you had given me in case I needed a bus ticket back to the bunker. In case you needed me,” He added, watching as Dean closed his eyes in anguish at his words.

“But that was clearly not going to happen,” Cas continued with a bitter laugh, and then checked himself. He scowled, sipping at his coffee as though he wanted it to appear they were discussing nothing more innocuous than the weather. “So I saved a little more, took the cheapest bus ticket I could find, spent a few nights on a sofa here. Bought a laptop. Started working.”

He shrugged again then, as though it had all been so easy for him.

Dean wanted to be proud, and happy for him, and of course a huge part of him was. But the longing, and the overwhelming feeling that he was watching Cas slip away from him for good, and that there was not a single thing he could do about it, was too much.

“I can return the money to you.” Cas continued, as nonplussed as if he'd offered to lend Dean a pen.

Dean's knuckles grew white as he clung on to the table, slowly shaking his head.

“Cas...” and Dean found that he couldn't form a sentence at all. But he hoped desperately that Cas would understand enough. Understand that taking anything from him, least of all money, was the furthest thing from his mind. He stared at Cas imploringly until Cas dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“What do you do for fun?” Dean scrambled for a different subject, half-expecting Cas to say that his work was his fun, that he didn't need anything else in his life. Dean hated that he didn't already know the answers to this question for himself.

Cas shrugged once more, and their distance hit Dean again: when had Cas become a shrugger? And what else did Cas now do that was new to him? That was something else Dean hadn't expected but really should have; of course there would be new parts to this new Cas that he knew nothing about. He had no claim, no right to pine for the Cas he'd once known, or long to get to know this one. Not after what he’d done.

“I joined a book club at a book store close to my apartment. I run in the mornings. I attend guest lectures at the local community college. Sometimes I go to a couple of classes.”

“Made any friends?”

“A few.”

Dean did not have the right to be jealous at all. He didn't want to know if Cas was dating. But he was. And he did, so much so that he has to bite down hard on the side of his finger to stop his mouth from letting the question out.

“You really have a life for yourself here.” Dean said quietly, trying to keep the sadness from his voice.

“I do.” Cas agreed, draining the last of his coffee. “So you understand. Why I would not come back. To somewhere that I didn't have a life.”

Dean wanted so badly then to say that he did have a life. With him, him and Sam, and a home at the bunker. But he knew what they could offer was nothing in comparison to what Cas had now.

Sam hadn't even fully forgiven him yet either, so even if Cas were by some miracle to come back with him now, all Cas would be returning to would be loaded words and accusing silences in the background. What kind of a home would that be for him?

Dean couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt so defeated.

“Yeah.” He managed in the end, knocking back the last of his coffee and staring into the empty cup despondently. “Doesn't mean I don't want you to though.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I am not a hunter, Dean. I would hinder your and Sam's work, and if I did not hunt, then I would simply be existing at the bunker doing little with my time.”

“You could work. Like you do now.” Dean's voice was hopeful but without reason; he already knew the answer Cas would give.

“I am living a good life here, Dean.”

“Are you happy, Cas?”

Cas paused for the smallest of moments before tipping his head. “Enough.”

Enough meant there were things that could be changed, that Cas might still want. Dean wished so desperately that he could be one of those things, or at least give some of those things, but knew he'd forfeit that chance before he'd ever even taken it.

“So are you saying this is it? You don't want me to darken your doorstep ever again?” Dean tried to joke, but he never had been as good at hiding the emotion from his voice as he thought he was.

“You are not on my doorstep.” And for a second there was a flash of the old Cas; the not-understanding-references Cas, the one that stood beside him and the one that was his friend.

Dean had been the one to send that all away. Dean had created the Cas before him now. He really did have no one to blame but himself. A cold feeling seeped through his veins, and there was no comfort to be found at all.

“I mean,” Dean studied the pattern on the table cloth, unable to meet Cas' eyes. “Don't you want to hear from me again?”

Cas frowned deeply at that, and Dean only caught his expression because Cas hadn't said anything in so long he'd had to look up to check he was still there.

“I did consider that it might be for the best,” Cas eventually acknowledged. “But now that you're here...” Cas' words trailed away with no apparent sign of being finished.

“Now I'm here what?” Dean's heart raced, making his words come out harsh as he wondered where Cas was going with his thinking.

“Now you're here, and I didn't truly believe that you would come,” He shrugged again. “I don't know what to think.”

“You thought I wouldn't come?” Dean's voice was soft, though not soft enough to disguise the sheer devastation in it. Cas really would never trust him again, would he?

“Yes.”

Dean wondered if Cas knew how much his words carved into him. If he had any small idea of how much Dean wanted to lean across the table, weave his fingers through his, and grip on tightly.

“Do you know how many nights I watched you working at the Gas N Sip?” he spoke so quietly then that it was a miracle really that Cas could even hear him.

Cas' tone remained flat, and he replied carefully with, “How would I know that?”

“Many.” Dean choked out. “More than I can count.”

“Yet you only spoke to me once.” Cas' eyes narrowed very slightly, and Dean couldn't help find his voice accusing.

“I didn't know what to do,” is all he could manage in his defence.

“And you do now.” Cas asked without any inflection or emotion.

“No, Cas.” Dean sighed out, pressing back into his seat. “I haven't the foggiest. I wanted to talk to you, and see you, and apologise to you. And that was as far as I got.”

And despite how hard it was, Dean looked up, determined, holding Cas’ gaze. “I really am sorry, you know, Cas. So, so sorry.”

“Does Sam know you are here?” Cas sharply changed the direction of the conversation, his voice hard.

Dean's expression clouded. “Of course. He's doing great, by the way, thank you.” There was never going to be enough gratitude he could show Cas, he thought, worrying his fingers along an imperfection on the table's surface through the cloth. “I mean he's barely speaking to me at all, but,” Dean looked intently at Cas then, as though he could will him to understand. “He thought I should visit on my own this time. Told me to say _hi_.”

“That sounds like you plan on visiting again.” and Cas looked vaguely uncomfortable, completely ignoring anything else Dean had said.

Dean fought to keep the tremor from his voice. “Would you let me visit?”

Cas stayed silent, and said nothing.

Dean felt himself begin to panic; this couldn't be it, could it? Was Cas really going to send him away and never let him come back? He couldn't deal with that, he just couldn't, he-

Dean stopped himself mid-thought. Took a long, shaky breath. And another.

After a beat, he tried again. “Would you want me to?”

And finally, Cas managed a very quiet, “I don't know, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean's voice cracked, and there was no mistaking how close he was to breaking down in front of him.

Cas stirred rigidly in his seat, clearly agitated by what he saw, and what he heard.

“Dean.” Cas' tone morphed into equal parts wounded and wounding. “I am truly happy that Sam is well.  And I honestly do understand that you believed you were doing the right thing. But you pushed me out, Dean. You pushed me away, and abandoned me, and I was lost.”

Cas paused for a moment, frowning to himself. “I do not like to admit to such...weakness. Such...need. But I had nothing, Dean. Nothing. No friends. No home. No reason to live. Or do anything. You ask too much of me if you assume I can give up all I have created for myself, because you were the one that forced me to leave.” Cas breathed heavily after his words, and he glared at Dean with righteous anger contorting every angle of his face.

“I know I let you down, Cas.” It wasn't enough. No words would never be enough to sum up all Dean had done, and all the pain he had caused. “I know I can't take that back.”

“No. You can't.”

“I'd give anything,” Dean whispered, his eyes brimming with unshed tears but holding on to Cas' gaze unashamed.

That was almost enough to make Cas crumble, because Dean had always been his weak spot, even now. Dean was his reason, even when he chose to ignore it. He was his conscience, his confident, and his friend.

And not so long ago Cas had longed for something much more than friendship from Dean.

***

_On the way to the bunker, Cas was excited. He'd never had a home before, not in the human sense of the word. He'd never really felt he belonged anywhere until he'd met the Winchesters, and though belonging had been a hard-fought thing, he really felt that he did. He felt it in their shared jokes and teasing, he felt it in their hugs or when they gripped him on the shoulder, and he saw it in Dean's eyes._

_He often thought he saw something a little more from Dean; the way his eyes lingered and his smile was just that little bit brighter in his direction._

_Cas had never experienced longing before Dean, and at first it had filled him with fear. But now, with something of a future to look forward to, it filled him with hope._

_He took in all of Dean's heated looks, the way he leaned into hug him much longer than he did anyone else. He took in the way Dean had pressed him against the side of the Impala and bracketed him in his arms, and Dean's intense stare as he'd whispered, “We're gonna talk about this, Cas. This thing. Us.”_

_And he took in the rage, the hurt in Dean's eyes when he'd said he'd had sex for the first time._

_At first, he'd wondered if that was what had made Dean send him away._

_But, he later told himself, that would be ridiculous. Because that would have meant Dean cared about him in any way in the first place._

_And if Dean had cared about him in the first place, Cas would not now be hunkered down in a dark store room, shivering into himself with cold, and loneliness._

***

Dean looked across at Cas as though he was reading his mind; Cas shook his head in dismissal.

“Cas,” Dean's voice cracked again, pleading.

“No.” No to the memories, no to the feelings, no to using any of what only Dean could so that he could worm his way back in to Cas' life.

A heavy silence fell on them then, neither willing to be the first to speak, and both so exhausted from the words they had already said, and heard.

“So what happens now, Cas?” Dean mumbled eventually, his voice laden with resignation.

Cas closed his eyes, swallowing with difficulty. What he wanted to do was send Dean away. Hand him the battered old cell phone with his only form of contact for him, and tell him to never return.

What he also wanted was to wrap himself so tightly around Dean that Dean could never push him away again.

Cas did neither of these things, just continued watching Dean fall apart in front of him with a carefully masked stare.

Dean had once been his friend, he told himself. He'd made a mistake; a big one yes, but still a mistake. And Dean had forgiven Cas a hundred times over for all of his mistakes.

Maybe, he admitted, wondering if this internal conversation was evident on his face, but then he doubted if any of his mistakes had ever cut Dean so deep. Because Cas would never, in any lifetime ever, push Dean away the way he had done to him.

But Dean was still, somehow, in his thoughts. Still haunting his dreams. Still the first image that came into his mind in the morning, and the last voice he heard before dropping off to sleep at night.

Cas didn't want to feel that way anymore. But he did, and there seemed to be no way of controlling it at all. Cas didn't know what to do about any of it.

Having Dean here, in front of him, in touching distance, made it all the worse.

“We can text.” He managed, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“Text?” Dean sounded appalled, as though he couldn't believe that that was really all Cas was offering him.

“Text,” Cas confirmed. “I like emoticons,” he added, offering a small smile almost as an afterthought.

Dean held on to that small smile as though it were that dying ember, rekindled. Cas thought that he looked like he had about a thousand other things he wanted to say, but respectfully he didn't.

Instead, Dean closed his mouth, breathed slowly a couple of times, and gave a soft, “Okay,” in reply, as though he couldn't trust himself to say any more.

Cas remained silent as Dean stood, slapping a few dollars to cover the cost of the coffee down on the table, and cleared his throat. “Best be heading back then. It's a couple hours from here.” It was clear that Dean's words were deliberate; _it_ being the place he desperately wanted Cas to return to, and the _couple of hours_ alluding to how close by he was. Or could be.

Cas stood too, slipping the phones and his book into a brown leather satchel that he swung effortlessly over his head. Dean thought it suited him, and allowed himself one final look up and down Cas before clearing his throat again, and turning for the door.

They paused in front of the Impala; Cas found he irrationally missed it and slammed down a wall on some of his happier memories of spending time in it. They would only be chased away by bad ones, he warned himself.

“So. Take care of yourself?” Dean asked, and Cas tilted his head in reply.

Cas’ eyes were drawn to Dean's hands; they were clenching and unclenching, half-reaching towards him as though Dean wanted to hug him, or pat him on the shoulder, or something. He seemed to come to the decision that none of those things would be welcomed, and so instead shoved them deep in his pockets and walked around to the driver's side of the car.

Cas wanted to not be disappointed by that.

“Have a safe drive back,” he said, thankful that he'd succeeded in keeping his voice steady.

“Will do.” And with that Dean slid into his seat, closing the door with a slam that rang with finality.

Cas watched the car disappear before he let his shoulders slump. He let out the long, unsteady breath he'd been holding the entire time, and headed for home.

*** 


End file.
